BG01-SAFE-TY SYS-TEM: A Classic Battlestar Galactic Story
by VStarTraveler
Summary: A Colonial Warrior experiences a career ending accident and is a broken man. Responsible for the death of his wingman, he is haunted nightly by the man's ghost, who repeatedly gives him a strange, unintelligible message. He becomes a dead man "walking" until strange events occur on the day of the signing of the peace treaty with the Cylons. Updated with corrections for Halloween!
1. Chapter 1

**SAFE-TY SYS-TEM: A Classic Battlestar Galactic Story  
** By VStarTraveler

 ** _Author's Notes:_**

 _This story was written for fun, not profit, and all parts of Battlestar Galactica remain the property of their respective owners. That said, it is an original story that takes place in the Classic Battlestar Galactica universe of the 1978-79 TV series. Many thanks to my friend Amy for letting me borrow her character Abby for a brief appearance._

 _For those unfamiliar with Battlestar Galactica and the BG lexicon, the story begins in the Twelve Colonies of Man in a distant galaxy. The humans there have been fighting an on again-off again war for 1,000 yahrens, the Colonial year, against a race of sentient robots known as Cylons, who live in another system not too far away. The Colonies have built large spaceships called Battlestars and small fighter ships known as Vipers to take on the Cylons' giant Base Ships or Base Stars and small Raider fightercraft. At the beginning of the series, the two sides are at a stalemate and are preparing for a peace conference. This story begins about that time._

 _As noted, a yahren is roughly the Earth equivalent of a year, and a sectar is about a month, a secton is about a week, a cycle is about a day, a centar is roughly an hour, a centon is approximately a minute, and a micron is the Earth equivalent of a second. A metron is the Colonial meter. Most of the other terms can be determined from context._

* * *

 **Chapter 1:**

Honorable people often inflict worse punishments on themselves for their mistakes than would their peers.

Such was the case of the man on the cot. Anyone who knew him would attest that he was indeed quite honorable, or at least, he tried to be as honorable as anyone in his condition could be. As a result, the self-inflicted punishment he was experiencing was quite severe.

His sleeping body suddenly jerked, stiffening, allowing a single foot to stick out from under the sparse sheet that covered him. A keen observer might have also noted that, unless the man was a skilled contortionist, his lower left leg did not appear to be where one ordinarily should be.

As he stiffened, he cried out yet again, abruptly concluding his ritual nightmare for what he would probably have guessed was the five to six hundredth time. It was a rare night since he'd awakened after the accident almost two yahrens before that he had not experienced the dream at least once. Each time, he saw himself lose concentration just before the critical moment and then make a tiny error, leading to a tearing of metal, an explosion just outside his cockpit, and the long scraping noise as the remains of two Vipers hit the ground hard and slid along for hundreds of metrons.

The dream always concluded with Joster's pale, dead face staring lifelessly at him, silently mouthing words that Urdea still could not understand after countless viewings. He'd even considered studying lip-reading to help decipher the words but had decided against it, since he wasn't sure how effective that would be anyway. His almost nightly experience with pallid nightmare ghosts, albeit a single one a great many times, led him to believe that they generally didn't make a habit of enunciating their words all that carefully.

He'd finally decided that the ghost was saying, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem," which he took as being an accusation about his carelessness. Now, viewing Joster's shade was both his nightly torment and his nightly penance.

Although the search had been quite intensive, very little of Joster's remains was ever located, with most, including the haunting face, having been consumed by the fiery explosion or pulverized by the long skid. The rescue team found Urdea's mangled body almost a centar after the crash. Although he was technically still classified as alive by the attending Med Techs, the damage had been severe enough that "remains" had seemed almost applicable. They later told him that his flight suit had saved his life, so he cursed it soundly and swore then and there that he would never wear another one. Of course, it was already obvious to anyone observing him that this was no longer an issue anyway. His days as a Colonial Warrior were over.

Almost a yahren after the accident, he'd been released from the care facility with most of the physical damage either stabilized or corrected. Twenty-three bones had healed, mending the close to forty fractures he'd suffered, although he'd carry nine of the pins, five implants, and three plates permanently. He'd also received four organ replacements, several substitutes, most of a mouthful of teeth, and countless grafts and plastic surgeries, all taking more operations than he cared to remember. In addition, what little was left of his lower left leg had been amputated and replaced by a prosthesis. Combined, this left most of the visible damage corrected, but the psychological damage was another story entirely.

Far more damaging than the actual injuries, the accident had taken both of the people Urdea cared most about in all of the Twelve Worlds. His wingmate, a slender young Libran, had been with him for only a few sectons but they'd quickly become close. They'd originally been teamed together by the Command Staff so Urdea could "help take off some of Joster's rougher edges," and eventually turn him into a real pilot. Instead, Joster had been killed as a result of Urdea's momentary loss of concentration, his stupid act of carelessness. He'd evidently let his mind drift away from the important task at hand, preparing to land his Viper in formation on the planet Sagitara.

He'd thought briefly of his beloved Abighiá, Abby, who he would have soon been seeing for the first time in fourteen sectons. Just before the start of that very patrol, he'd decided to ask her to take the Seal with him. The mission being all but over, he'd seemingly let his mind wander for just an instant. While he didn't remember it, his hand had evidently twitched slightly to the left, but it was more than enough to bring the two Vipers into contact and then to their mutual destruction as they had been preparing to do a touch-and-go landing in a remote area on the planet.

His Abby had been studying agronomy on the planet, but she interrupted her studies and started coming to see him every day, spending as much time as the medical team would allow while he was unconscious. She saw clearly the ravages his body had experienced, but she stood by him, doing her best to nurse him back to health as his body began the long recovery process.

Still, the sight of his broken body left her largely unprepared for the impact the accident had had on his mind. When he'd awakened and realized the extent of his injuries, he'd refused to see her again, hoping to somehow spare her any more anguish. She'd tried time after time to change his mind, sending letters, notes, and cards, all completely without success due to the guilt in which he was already beginning to drown himself. After some sectars, the frequency of the attempted visits decreased, and then trickled to a halt, as did the letters some time later. With the exception of his nightly visitor, Urdea was then truly alone.

Joster had been single, with his only remaining family being his mother and two siblings. Urdea had tried to contact them through Colonial Military channels, and had offered to set up scholarships for the siblings, but Joster's mother had declined any contact with the man who had killed her son, no matter how sorry he seemed.

Wanting to get away from it all, Urdea had bought an old shuttle, packed it with his few possessions, and left for the frontier on Canceria, his home planet. Flying slowly to conserve fuel, he'd programmed the shuttle's course before bed that cycle and then suffered through his nightly visit, with those flaccid lips mouthing, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem."

When he'd awakened some centars later, he was surprised to find that the programmed flight course had changed, and he was instead headed directly toward Libra, Joster's home world. Urdea had immediately reprogrammed the course and watched as the shuttle changed direction. A few centons later, however, he was surprised to see the course changing back toward Libra again. He had fought it for a full cycle but had finally given up when he realized that whatever was causing the course change would not easily be corrected.

The shuttle had finally landed, automatically it seemed, in open and uninhabited grassland just over thirty kilometrons from the nearest human settlement. After studying the area, he decided that this land would become his home. He'd visited the settlement, with the shuttle nav-computer working perfectly without any repairs, and he'd laid claim to the land and purchased building and farming supplies with the last of his money. He'd built a combined hangar and barn with most of the supplies, and with the leftover pieces of building materials, he'd built a small sod-covered hut and started a small farming operation. He'd succeeded in isolating himself as much as was possible, with only Joster's unwelcome nightly visage for company, so he could stew in his own guilt, frustration, and loneliness.

On the particular night on which our story begins, upon seeing Joster again mouthing the silent words, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem," Urdea had risen from his cot, and attached his prosthetic leg to the implant just below his left knee. He wiped sweat from his brow and walked to the pitcher of water he'd drawn from the well the afternoon before.

As he reached for his cup, he glanced through the small opening in the exterior wall. He was only mildly surprised to see flashing lights in the distance in the direction of Kenkillen, the nearest settlement. He'd heard on the local broadcast that Adar's peace treaty with the Cylons was being signed that day, so he assumed that the flashing lights were celebratory fireworks. He flipped on his small broadcast comm to get the latest word but received only static in reply. He'd planned to travel to Kenkillen the next afternoon for supplies anyway, so he returned to bed without another thought of the lights. Instead, Joster's pale face dominated his thoughts once more as he wondered yet again just what Joster meant by "Safe-ty sys-tem."

Outside the little hut, somewhere in the distance, a hooter sounded, its eerie wail breaking across the plains where darkness ruled once more.

'***


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

Shortly after dawn arrived, red streaks across the sky quickly yielded to a bright cloudless morning.

Urdea went about his morning chores having never slept again after the nightmare. He quickly completed them and then ran through his list of special items for the day. After a light breakfast, he packed a lunch and small emergency bag in the shuttle with the few other items that always resided there. A few centons later, the shuttle's engines boomed into action, and within moments he was on his way to Kenkillen.

Urdea made it a practice of flying low, skimming just above the tops of the small rises that were frequently seen on the plains. It was the biggest thrill he could get in a cockpit, since he knew that he would never again fly a Viper. Of course, his enemies here, instead of metal-skinned robots in swoop-winged Raiders, were the lanky, shorthaired residents of the plains: the jack-hoppers. They always seemed to bound into the grass as the shuttle approached their positions. Urdea watched the fleeing wild creatures with a touch of amusement but also a sense of compassion. He would not be bothering these creatures again on his way home.

He was only five kilometrons from town when his scanner sounded, warning him of unfamiliar terrain ahead. A quick check showed that something was wrong…with the town! He slowed his shuttle to a virtual standstill and traveled the next couple of kilometrons mere metrons above the ground as he evaluated the changed layout and topography ahead of him. Soon he saw plumes of smoke in the distance, and a short time later, the destruction became visible.

He brought the shuttle down about a kilometron and a half from the outskirts of town, settling it behind a small hillock. As he did so, he suddenly drew back when he saw in the viewshield the reflection of a gray-skinned Joster sitting in the co-pilot's chair. He was wearing the uniform of a Colonial Warrior, but his face had that dead look.

Urdea whirled toward the co-pilot's chair as fast as his body would let him, but he saw only an empty seat. This was the first time he'd imagined seeing Joster during waking times, so Urdea wondered, with some degree of amusement, if he might need a medication for some new malady as yet undiagnosed. He was glad to have only recently finished the last of all the seemingly countless pills and elixirs required during his recovery.

Shaking his head, he dug into the locker and removed his emergency kit, plus his blaster, holster, and plasma loads, his old Colonial Warrior's jacket with the retired patch just below the emblem of the Battlestar Atlantia (his last posting), and a few miscellaneous items including binocs, a comm unit, a first aid kit, a water bottle, and four solenite charges he'd been able to obtain, ostensibly for "rock clearing operations" on his completely rockless farm. He packed everything on a utility harness or in his small belt pouch.

He began to trek toward the remains of the town, knowing something awful had happened but not knowing what. He took his comm and tried to establish communications with the regional system, but he received no response.

He shook his head again, wondering why, when bad things happen, nothing ever seemed to work right, making the bad things even worse. From what he could tell, there couldn't be much worse here. Even before he reached the edge of what had been the village, the smell of death and destruction filled his nostrils. Not knowing what he'd find, he decided to stay hidden as he worked his way toward the carnage. He dropped to the ground, and wriggled forward, slowly and cautiously making his way to the first group of burned or bombed out buildings.

Less than 100 metrons from the edge of "town," he saw a large gash and a large hole in the ground that he thought would provide some cover. He clambered toward it and soon dropped into the rift in the ground. By bending forward at the waist, he was able to walk reasonably upright under cover as he scampered the forty or fifty metrons toward the hole at the end.

In the crater were the remains of a Cylon Raider. Scorch marks on the lower front edge made it appear that the vessel had been hit from below, probably by a ground-based defender. Seeing the entry hatch had been flung open by the impact, Urdea climbed up on the ship with his blaster pistol in hand. He silently moved to the opening and peered inside, with the intent of dispatching the Cylons inside if they had not been destroyed by the impact.

The first had been crushed as the ship crumpled around him. The second wouldn't be causing any more trouble either, since its headpiece had been sheared from its torso. In fact, the head was missing entirely, probably buried under the debris that had been the cockpit prior to the crash. Due to the condition of the cockpit, it was difficult to tell where the pieces of the third Cylon even were. It didn't take too long to figure it out, though. The Command Centurion's pieces just weren't there. He, or it, was missing!

Urdea whirled around on the realization that the Centurion could be anywhere around him. Blood pumped in his temples as the adrenaline seemed to shoot into his system. He realized that what he was feeling was like the apprehension before launching into combat. Now, he might actually be in it again, but on the ground rather than in the cockpit. For the first time since the accident, he felt completely alive, regaining, for the first time in his recent memory, a will to live for all those killed around him.

He slid down the front of the Raider, and continued to make his way forward, being ever watchful for the third Cylon. He loped across the last few metrons and pulled up behind the smoldering wall of what had been a house or perhaps a business.

He aimed his blaster intently as he used the binocs to try to penetrate into the smoke in the distance. Seeing nothing that would help him, he began to dart from debris pile to adjacent debris pile as fast as his artificial leg would carry him, watching the whole time for the missing Centurion.

A few centons later, as he passed another pile of what had been a home, he saw an elderly white-haired lady wearing a night robe a few metrons away. She was bent over with her back to him, both hands reaching down, as if trying to locate something she'd lost on the ground.

He approached cautiously, speaking softly to her as he neared to keep from surprising her. "Pssst! Ma'am," he whispered, "What happened here? There's a Cylon Centurion about," but he received no reply.

As he neared her, he realized that something was more wrong than he'd suspected. The lady's hands, Urdea saw, weren't really moving of their own volition. One end of a large steel shaft had been embedded in her chest, and the other had been driven in the ground enough so she was now supported in full rigor in the position he'd found her. The pole vibrated slightly under another small breeze, leaving the corpse to continue its macabre dance.

Seeing there was nothing he could do for her, he muttered another, "Excuse me, ma'am," and went about his way, continuing his search for human life and for the Cylon.

He spent the next fifty centons searching, seeking, but finding only death. A couple of the more intact bodies had burn marks that reminded him of those left by Cylon energy weapons, but many times, he saw only body parts, as if the people had been blown to pieces. He kept up his guard, determined to pass along the word of what had happened here to someone, somewhere, who could do something about it. Someone in the Colonial government would make those damnable Cylons pay for the evil that they wrought there. If he ever found it, he'd personally make the Centurion pay.

'***


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

It eventually began to dawn on Urdea that the chance of finding anyone alive was becoming increasingly remote.

He started down another former street, now littered with debris from the collapsed buildings. He was still dodging from point to point, when in the distance, he saw a human shape emerging from the smoke. Keeping low, he tightened his grip on his blaster pistol, in case it turned out to be the Cylon. It came directly toward him, as if it knew in advance Urdea's exact position. Urdea aimed the pistol directly at the figure as it neared, but he hesitated on firing, as his eyes began to take in the sight of the figure. It was a thin human male figure, wearing the uniform of a Colonial Warrior!

Its hair looked unkempt, as if waving in the breeze. Though he tried to make it out, it was difficult to see the face until it was only a few metrons in front of him, as if smoke was clinging to its skin, obscuring it with a type of waviness. As the man raised his hand, pointing it directly toward Urdea, the sense of waviness vanished, and Urdea suddenly felt his heart grasped with a fear he'd never felt before, even when thinking of going one on one with the Centurion. Standing directly in front of him, he saw the dead figure of Joster!

For the first time in his life, he was experiencing a real panic attack, with his breath coming in short bursts and sweat almost boiling from his pores. He recoiled from the figure, trying to get away, but the sight of ghostly Joster's upturned hand seemed to arrest his escape. He stopped struggling, and the Joster shade pointed his index finger directly at him and mouthed those accusing silent words again, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem." This time, however, the shade curled the index toward itself, as if to say, "Come."

The Joster ghost turned away, and made its way down the rubble-filled course that was once the street, with a reluctant Urdea following a few moments later, only a short distance behind.

Within fifty metrons, the Joster ghost came to a halt, and pointed to a yet another pile of rubble. Urdea tilted his head slightly to the right, wondering what the ghost wanted, until he saw it mouth the silent words again, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem."

Urdea wondered why anything to do with the safety system would be there, but considering his problem with sleeping, he decided he would try to figure it out. He removed several sections of debris as quietly as he could, in an attempt to keep from alerting the missing Centurion. He winced at the noise, hoping that it would either not carry far, or would be perceived by the Cylon as just another building section falling.

On shifting the last section, he saw a small shaft extending downward into the ground. Joster again pointed, this time directly down the hole, and mouthed wordlessly, "Safe-ty sys-tem. Safe-ty sys-tem."

Urdea whispered, "Yeah, yeah," rather sarcastically to himself, and then started into the hole. He noticed that the ghost was not coming with him.

At the base of the steep stairs, the cellar floor flattened out. The small room had two exits in addition to the way he'd come. Seeing nothing of interest in the room, he carefully opened the nearest door, and found nothing but shelves covered with some type of supplies. Nothing looked like a "safety system" to Urdea, so he closed the door quietly behind him. Next, he tried the second door, but found the latch resisted his attempt to raise it. From his position next to the doorjamb, he listened intently for a few microns. He thought he heard something inside, so he raised the handle once more. Feeling it give slightly but not open, he curled his right hand into a fist, and tapped on the door very lightly with his knuckles.

From inside, he heard a very small, "Who is it?" followed immediately by at least two hissed "Shhh!"s.

His face broke into a small half-grin for the first time since he'd landed the shuttle. Urdea whispered back, "Quiet! I'm a friend, here to help. Open the door."

A moment of hesitation was followed by a scraping and a click of the latch, and then the door swung a short way into the room. Urdea, with his blaster pistol pointed straight up, peeked around the corner before drawing his head back quickly. In the brief glance, he'd seen a couple of young children huddled together behind a crate.

He stepped into the room with the pistol in the lead and immediately had to dodge to avoid a board that came swinging from behind the door. He slammed into the door, knocking into the side of his attacker, as he raised his left arm to absorb much of the force of the blow. Dropping the pistol and raising his other arm, he caught the piece of wood and yanked it down and around, pulling the trailing figure behind it. As he did, the force of the action caused him to twist, making him loose his balance on the bad leg. Falling, he saw that his attacker was a slim, young woman whose eyes suddenly widened in shock as she realized she was attacking not only someone possibly there to help but maybe even a Colonial Warrior!

Urdea landed directly on her, becoming entangled with her as he said, "Sorry, Miss!" He rolled to the side, pulling the board out of her hands. He grabbed his blaster pistol from where it had fallen on the floor and, as he rose to one knee, he shoved it into the holster. He quickly held out both hands as if to show he meant no harm, saying in a hushed tone, "Hold on, I'm really here to help!"

She was a mess, but she looked at him with fiery eyes, as if she was ready to launch herself at him to tear him to shreds if he even looked the wrong way at the children. On looking closer, he realized that she was probably only seventeen or eighteen yahrens of age, if that.

She hesitated for a moment to give him a chance to prove himself, although from her look, he knew that she was not going to give him long. It took a couple of centons to convince her, including showing the retired patch on his jacket to make her believe he wasn't just a cowardly deserter who'd allowed the destruction above to occur.

When the girl finally relaxed slightly, showing that she had begun to believe him, he glanced around the room, and seeing no computer or other mechanical equipment of note that might possibly be a safety system, he said, "No time to talk now. We've got to get out of here. Be very quiet and follow me."

The girl nodded, signaling the two younger boys, who appeared to be about five or six and maybe eight or nine yahrens, to follow quietly. As they neared the top of the stairs, Urdea signaled them to stop as he crept forward to check out the area around the entrance. His blaster in hand, he stuck his head up just above the level of the entrance and began to turn—

A low whir from behind was the only warning. Incredible pain shot through him as Urdea felt something clench his right shoulder. In one motion, his entire body was jerked off the ground and out of the shaft. He was flying through the air a moment later, crashing against a wall almost four metrons away. He rolled as he slammed into the ground below and came up to see a bright chrome and black shape stepping toward him.

He raised his blaster to fire as he rolled away, but the Cylon hit it, sweeping it away. The centurion grabbed for him again, but Urdea scampered backward, trying to escape. He looked around frantically, wondering if there was anything useful to fight Cylons but saw nothing. His blaster pistol was much too far away to be retrieved, especially when he didn't even know exactly where it had landed.

Suddenly, he saw Joster standing well behind the centurion, pointing to the ground. The Cylon, which he saw was unarmed, grabbed again, this time catching his right foot, and then swung him around like a doll, releasing him after he'd traveled through an arc of over 150 degrees.

Urdea rolled again as he landed, but he was unable to regain his feet due to the rapidly approaching Cylon. He continued to backpedal toward the Joster shade, wondering if the "safety system" to which the Joster shade kept referring was actually the safety on his blaster pistol!

He was within about a metron of the pistol when the Cylon again grabbed him, this time latching firmly onto Urdea's left ankle. As the robot jerked to throw him again, Urdea slammed his left hand against the side of his leg and pulled upward.

The centurion continued its arc with Urdea's prosthetic leg coming out of his trousers, but this made the robot off balance, causing it to stumble. Urdea, having hit the quick release mechanism on his implant, rolled to his right as the leg detached, and he scampered the last metron to the spot Joster was indicating on his hands and knees.

He grabbed the blaster from below Joster's ghost, double checking that the safety was off as he whirled, and, lying on his back on the ground, fired.

The plasma blast hit the approaching Cylon full in the chest plate, knocking it backward. The red eye swung unsteadily, then flickered, dying, as the robot fell backward onto the ground. It remained still.

Moments later, Urdea found his prosthesis still in the boot. As he fumbled with his pants leg and reattached it to the implant, he looked back at the Joster shade, standing just above the shaft entrance. Urdea said, "Thank you, my friend. I couldn't have done it without you."

For the first time, the ghost seemed to be almost smiling. Its lips suddenly started moving, taking Urdea by surprise. It had delivered, again for the first time, a different message! True to form, the Joster ghost repeated the statement. Urdea, watching as intently as he could, the second time anyway, guessed that the ghost was saying, "Thank you for sav-ing my sys-tem."

He nodded, but turned in surprise when the girl exited the shaft asking, "Who were you talking to?"

Urdea turned to show her, but Joster was gone. Helping the youngsters up, he replied, "Just an old friend, I guess. I think he may be gone now. Permanently, I hope."

She looked at him quizzically but said nothing. The small group went quickly through the remnants of the town, and arrived at the shuttle shortly before dark.

As he launched, Urdea used the shuttle's longer-range comm, on a scrambled channel, to send out an emergency distress call. The girl settled into the co-pilots seat without invitation, and the boys were seated in the back. Moments later, a female voice responded, "Galactica Control to Shuttle 742-Delta Tau, come in. You'll have to join us quickly. The fleet is preparing to depart as we speak."

"This is Lieutenant Urdea, retired, of the Colonial Warrior Corps. There's been an attack at Kenkillen on Libra, and I need to speak to someone about what's happened—"

There was a sharp intake of breath from the seat next to him, but before he could see what was wrong, a new, somewhat familiar voice came over the system, "Former Ensign Urdea, is it? This is Colonel Tigh of the Battlestar Galactica."

Urdea smiled, briefly, now recognizing the voice.

"You're not retired any more, my friend. We've got a Colonies-wide emergency, with attacks all over. If you don't want to be left behind, you'll join the fleet at the coordinates being sent by scrambled code, along with your reinstatement papers, within the next centar. Like I said, if you don't show up, you'll be left behind and on your own. You can file your report when you arrive. For now, stay off the comm, old friend. Tigh, out."

Urdea received the coordinates, and the reactivation notice. He couldn't believe they would use that clause on him, especially Tigh, under whom he had served for a time some yahrens before, but just in case, he decided to be a good little soldier, and follow "orders." He punched the coordinates into his navigation system.

As they covered the space between Libra and the "fleet" at a high rate of speed, not worrying about conserving fuel like usual, the boys ate heartily on a couple of the packaged meals from the storage locker. The girl, on the other hand, disappeared into the back by herself for a long while immediately after the comm discussion. He assumed she was cleaning herself up.

When she finally came forward, he saw that she had indeed done her best to make herself look presentable, and, if anything, somewhat younger. He now estimated she was around fifteen or possibly sixteen yahrens of age. She joined him without comment or invitation, sitting down once more in the copilot's chair. She looked away, out the viewshield, ignoring Urdea entirely.

They sat in silence for a while, but it finally started to bother him, so Urdea decided to try to bring her out of the shell in which she seemed to have wrapped herself.

"Well, we'll be there, wherever there is, shortly, and maybe we'll get some answers then. By the way, my name's Urdea. How are you and your brothers?"

On hearing his name again, she'd looked at him sharply, with a glaring look of hatred in her eyes, but it seemed to soften after a few moments. She said quietly, "They're not my brothers, and I don't even think they're related. I found them wandering in town, looking for their mothers. My mother and my little brother were killed by one of those ships last night."

"I'm so sorry," he said, but she interrupted, continuing, "My big brother was a Colonial Warrior who was killed in an accident about two yahrens ago. I have no one left now…and my name's Jostine."

Urdea turned incredulously to look at her, just staring at him, and saw the family resemblance for the first time. "Sis-ter!" he thought to himself. "Not system! Save my sis-ter! Maybe I should have studied lip reading after all!"

He tried again to express his sorrow to her about her losses, but her brief speech seemed to have exhausted her. She paid him no further attention, turning instead to the viewshield. Lost in her own thoughts, she focused only on the shining lights of a rag-tag collection of ships that were just ahead.

 _The End_

* * *

 ** _Follow-up Notes:_**

 _October 2016: There were religious overtones and occasional elements of the supernatural in the original Battlestar Galactica series. Since I've used a bit of that here and since this has close ties to a certain season on the Earth calendar, I've taken the liberty to accept a suggestion received long ago to split this story into three chapters and make a few minor edits for readability purposes._

 _If you enjoy this story, or if for some reason you don't, please take a moment to review to let me know why. Constructive criticism, both positive and negative, is welcome. Previous comments have already helped me correct a few errors and hopefully improve readability, so your input does count._

 _Urdea and Jostine return in some of my later stories along with many of our canon BSG favorites. Please see my profile page for a suggested reading order for my other BSG stories._

 _Thanks,_

 _VST_


End file.
